


Near to You

by hato



Series: Untitled Series [11]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Minor Character Death, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-09
Updated: 2012-06-09
Packaged: 2017-11-07 10:03:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/429800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hato/pseuds/hato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson and Mary Morstan. A relationship compressed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Near to You

**Author's Note:**

> Because I’ve always liked to torture myself with unnecessary angst. Doubtful this is Season 3 Compliant.
> 
> **Inspired by** : _Near to You_ by A Fine Frenzy  
>  **Disclaimer:** The characters belong to Arthur Conan Doyle. This particular version belongs to Stephen Moffat, Mark Gatiss, and BBC.

He meets Mary Morstan a month and a half after losing Sherlock. When he’s barely holding on, day to day. Struggling through some semblance of life.  
  
In the park, on his lunch break from the surgery, a stray football knocks the cup of coffee from his hand. Mary jogs over with a gaggle of primary students trailing behind her. Flushed from playing, blushing in apology.  He notices her short, curly hair. Strawberry blond.  She’s sincerely contrite, offering to replace the coffee. He forces a polite smile to his face and refuses. Accidents happen. No one’s fault.  He returns the ball and takes his cane and slowly makes his way back to the surgery.  
  
She’s in the park nearly every day he is. Always with her students. Always with a bright smile and wave for him.  She brings him a coffee- a replacement-  several weeks after the football incident. He accepts it and notices she is quite a bit younger than he is. By at least a decade, probably more. He offers a soft word of gratitude. But nothing more. She doesn’t seem to expect anything more and cheerfully runs back to her small class. He sips his coffee and watches them play until his break ends.  
  
He’s not ready to move on.  
  
\-------------------------------------------------  
  
He buys Mary Morstan a drink six months after losing Sherlock. When he’s making a reasonable go of it, day to day.  Dragging himself through some semblance of life.  
  
She asks him. In the park on a Sunday when she doesn’t have her students but always jogs through in the morning with her dog.  He’s walking, doesn’t know when he’ll be able to do anything more strenuous, on his way to the Tesco to pick up eggs and bread for Mrs. Hudson. He smiles as they meet in the middle of the path. Leans down to pet the slobbering mass of bulldog at the end of her leash that she calls Gladstone.   He notices she has golden brown eyes.  She quirks up one corner of her mouth and wants to know if he’d care to meet her at the pub tonight.  He shakes his head. He’s meeting Lestrade at the pub tonight, their bi-monthly ritual.  But kindly invites her to join them. The more the merrier, and all that. She cocks her head to the side, as if in thought, grins. Says she’ll swing by if he doesn’t mind. He doesn’t.  
  
She does swing by. Lestrade is openly supportive. They speak sports while he sips his pint and listens. Amused.  Walks her home and hugs her on the stoop.  
  
He’s not ready to move on.  
  
\-------------------------------------------------------  
  
He asks Mary Morstan out for a drink six and a half months after losing Sherlock. When he realizes she hasn’t stopped speaking to him after declining her previous offer of a date. Still happy to see him when they cross paths in the park, which is rather often.  
  
She accepts with a carefree grin.  
  
He walks her home afterward and kisses her on the stoop. She kisses him back with an easy confidence.  He notices how pale her skin is, how the freckles on her face stand out.  
  
He chuckles, his stride not as hindered as he walks away.  
  
He’s not ready to move on.  
\--------------------------------------------------------  
  
He moves in with Mary Morstan eight months after losing Sherlock. When he realizes he can never bring her to 221b. When he can’t stand the guilt of coming back to the flat reeking of her perfume.  
  
When she looks him straight in the eye after a perfectly lovely orgasm and asks him to move in with her.  He’s still sticky, his hand softly playing between her legs, fingers smearing through the warm fluids. He notices how gentle her embrace is.  
  
He doesn’t want to say yes. He does anyway. Rolls over and kisses her with a passion he hasn’t bothered to attempt before.    
  
It’s not exactly a lie.  
  
He packs up most of his things and doesn’t look back until he’s closed and locked the flat door for the final time. Promises Mrs. Hudson to visit every week. Offers his hankie to wipe her red-rimmed eyes.  Doesn’t breathe until he’s on the sidewalk, shoving the last box into the cab. Gives directions to Mary’s flat on the other side of town.  
  
He’s not ready to move on.  
\------------------------------------------------------------  
  
He thinks he might be in love with Mary Morstan nine months after losing Sherlock. When he catches himself smiling at thoughts of her bright eyes in the morning. Of her soft kiss in the evenings. Of her infectious laughter all through the day.  
  
Her vibrant personality. Her directness. Her almost childlike curiosity and interest in everything and everyone around her.  Her ability to accept, yet not be overwhelmed, by life’s crueler aspects.  
  
Her drunken giggle. Her rounded hips. Her off key singing. Her plump little toes. Her knowledge of sports. Her appreciation of bitters. Her passion. Her sweetness. Her temper. Her innocence.  
  
The sound of her playing piano just before bedtime, curly head bent, fingers lovingly stroking over the keys.  
  
He thinks he might be in love with everything about Mary that is like Sherlock.  
  
He thinks he might be in love with everything about Mary that isn’t like Sherlock.  
  
He’s not quite ready to move on.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------  
  
He buys a ring for Mary Morstan nearly eleven months after losing Sherlock.  
  
Keeps it in his pocket.  
  
Waiting to be ready.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------  
  
He comes home from a late shift at the surgery to find Mary Morstan unconscious at her desk almost a year after losing Sherlock.  She’s cold. And not breathing.  Gladstone whimpers and whines at her feet.  
  
A phone call. An ambulance ride. A long wait.  
  
A burst aneurysm. No way of knowing. No way to prepare.  
  
He leaves the hospital in the early morning hours, hand deep in his coat pocket. Fingers wrapped loosely around the little velvet box.  Thinks about the bin. Or maybe the Thames. Or he could have it placed on her hand and buried with her. Sentiment.  
  
He passes a pawnbrokers that is still open.  Slows down, turns on heel. And enters.  
  
Exits a while later with £150.  
  
Drops it into the battered hat on the corner. A dirty, weathered face smiles in gratitude. It’s vaguely familiar from nights of back alley chases and passed information. Part of the network, he’s certain.  
  
Again, sentiment.  
  
He’s still not ready to move on.    
  
He knows now that he never was.  
  
And he knows now that he never will be.  
  
 ** end **

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to everyone who reads, kudos' and comments!!!


End file.
